


Conflating the truth

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Fanart, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Short & Sweet, Some Dialogue Borrowed, possible ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29154264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Excerpt from the fic: “What does the Lord say of a man who conflates the truth-“, Timothy interrupted him with a heady sigh, letting his reading glasses drop from his face and hang around his neck and putting his paper down.“Ned-“ but he was promptly shut up by the look on Ned’s face. He was sweating bullets, face redder than Lovejoy had ever seen it, and he was shaking.“- just to hear the voice of another man?”[Dialogue and work inspired by short fanart-comic. If interested in link, let me know :)] Enjoy!
Relationships: Ned Flanders & Timothy Lovejoy, Ned Flanders/Timothy Lovejoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Conflating the truth

A polite knock bounced off the door to the sacristy. Lovejoy could hear the nervous pacing outside. He didn’t raise his head from his magazine, he only acknowledged the visitor with a: “Come in.”

Someone stepped inside.

Timothy spotted brown, polished Oxfords from beneath his desk. He knew who they belonged to. Not bothering to feign courtesy, he said: “Have a seat, Ned,” to which Ned complied, sitting down in the chair opposite to him. A nervous energy lingered in the air that wasn’t present before the man entered, and Lovejoy quite literally prayed he didn't have a favor to ask of him.

Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t despise Ned, but he was tired of helping him with mundane tasks - such as what to do when his neighbor stole his weed wacker or when his sons had trouble with a bully.

 _‘God can’t help you with everything, Flanders, and neither can I. I can only guide you on the right path, but you must do the work yourself,’_ Timothy had firmly told him once when enough was enough. Now it had been a while since the man came to him or called for assistance.

“Reverend-“ started Flanders, awfully unsteady. “I need to confess something.”

 _Here we go,_ thought Lovejoy, thinking himself mentally prepared for whatever Ned was about to say. So he kept his eye on the papers in his hand.

“What is it now?” he asked, rather wanting the conversation to be over. When Ned began to confess his worries, his hands visibly fidgeting in his lap as he spoke: “What does the Lord say of a man who conflates the truth-“, Timothy interrupted him with a heady sigh, letting his reading glasses drop from his face and hang around his neck and putting his paper down.

“Ned-“ but he was promptly shut up by the look on Ned’s face. He was sweating bullets, face redder than Lovejoy had ever seen it, and he was shaking.

“- just to hear the voice of another man?” blurted Ned. These weren’t the last words the reverend thought would come out of his mouth. It turned out Timothy was _not_ mentally prepared for this _at_ _all_. After all, he expected something minor, with how worrisome Flanders could get over the smallest of things, but this?

The look on Ned’s face was one of despair, of pure desperation, and suddenly, swallowing became the most difficult task of all for Lovejoy - and he couldn’t begin to explain breathing.

“You…?” was all he managed to utter, hostility and bitterness toward the other party completely vanished with the confession made.

Was this why Ned had been so friendly? Why he called him so often and asked him to assist him? How long had he felt this way?

“D- Don’t misunderstand, I haven’t always been like this-“ began Ned, pushing his glasses up that had sloped down his nose with trembling fingers.

 _Like **this?**_ thought Lovejoy, what he thought to be reality slowly decaying right before his very eyes when his heart lurched into his throat. Why was he nervous? What was there to be nervous about?

Scratching his neck, Flanders continued: “But lately, my feelings got out of hand and I made up excuses to talk to you- sometimes even creating new problems just to have a reason to reach out.”

The more he revealed, the more sense it all made- the eagerness to help out in church, the bright smiles, the exchange of eye contact that Lovejoy always was the first to break. His face soon matched the shade of the other’s, an enigmatic and foreign feeling bubbling up in his chest.

Ned’s eyes averted to the surface of the desk, and he laughed, the lack of humor clear in it.

“I realize how pathetic I must sound-“ and something inside of Lovejoy snapped. He cut Ned off, rising up from his desk.

“You’re not!”

Then, registering his raise in volume, he cleared his throat, smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt and removed his clerical collar, setting it aside on his desk. He didn’t want this conversation to be him as a _priest_ helping out a _church-goer,_ but rather a friend helping out a friend.

Were they friends? Lovejoy was sure Ned thought of them as such, but now that the wish to become more had been expressed, well… things were put into a new perspective for him.

“You’re not... pathetic, that is. After all, there is no fear in love. And I think you proved that by telling me the truth just now,” he finished, plucking up the courage - despite his conservative upbringing and his initial prejudice concerning this exact kind of love - to offer Ned a hand so he could stand up with him. Stunned, the other stared at him, whispering in the quietness of the room: “You’re not mad? I-... I _lied_ , I took advantage of your kindness.”

Lovejoy rolled his eyes at Ned’s needless dwelling, though a fond smile graced his features and he kept his hand extended - before he could tap out because of his cowardice.

“That may be, but I forgive you. And so does _He_. Trust me,” he assured him, wanting to at least rid Flanders of _some_ of his guilt. He meant what he said; glancing to the cross on the wall behind his work desk, he felt this acceptance wash over him, as though granted His blessing. And when Ned finally took his hand and stood up on wobbly legs, shyly looking up at the taller through dark lashes, Lovejoy found himself unable to deny himself of this want any longer. How had he not recognized it sooner?

Bringing the hand he held Flanders’ in up his arm and to the nape of his neck, he lightly tipped forward and planted a kiss on the other’s lips.

In an instance, Ned’s arms encircled his neck and he pulled him back down for another kiss, and Lovejoy hummed his approval against soft lips. The strange sensation of the hair of Ned’s mustache tickling his nose and upper lip was new to him, unfamiliar, but not entirely unpleasant. No, not unpleasant at all. And the way Ned kissed; adamant and passionate, so much so that it could get the pastor high. He didn’t think he could get enough of it.

He only pulled away after he had made sure to kiss the man senseless, satisfied when Ned’s glasses were askew, pushed up on his face and he was holding onto Lovejoy for dear life, fists curled up and white-knuckled in his shirt.

Exhaling a breathless: “Oh my,” Ned practically coerced Timothy to steal another peck from him, and he adjusted the round glasses on his face that had fogged up on the inside quite comically. He looked utterly debauched, painting a pretty picture with his flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips and disheveled hair; and Lovejoy couldn’t help but feel proud. _He did that._ Though the picture was alarmingly arousing, which shouldn’t be the case as they were still in the sacristy of the _church_.

“I didn’t ever think- “ started Ned, but he trailed off, too flustered to speak. Lovejoy decided to help him out, untangling one of Ned’s hands from his own shirt and bringing it up to his face to briefly press his lips against the back of it. He hummed, dotingly: “Neither did I. Which is why I’m so thankful for your honesty,” and those words tied with his gesture had Ned’s knees buckling as he clutched tighter onto the reverend, nearly falling to the floor.

“You okay?” Timothy laughed, unable to help himself, and he watched Flanders make a strident attempt in composing himself. He swung back upright and let go of Timothy’s shirt, though he didn’t fully break their contact. He gave Timothy a wavering grin, eyes wet, and the taller at once pulled him into a hug, arms wrapping tight around his waist.

Ned hiccuped: “I’m wonderful!”, thankfully sounding happy rather than regretful as he hugged Timothy back, nearly sending him toppling over but the desk catching them. The small shudder that wrecked Ned’s body when he let out a small sob that got muffled against his shoulder made Timothy tear up a bit himself. He couldn’t begin to explain the flood wave of emotions that hit him with Ned’s confession - how easy it was to kiss him, and the regret of not having done it sooner.

But hey, better late than never, right?

As Ned gradually stilled, his crying fading to sniffles, Lovejoy stroked his hair, planting a featherlight kiss to his forehead. They could stand here all night if need be - they had time.


End file.
